Category: challenge

Yes, I didn’t die.
No, I’m not suffering from anything terminal.
I’ve just been BUSY.

I won’t bore you with the long details. Anyway!
The Thinking Tank himself enlisted me to join his battle in defeating an evil entity from the future. I won’t lie, I just agreed because of the after-party victory jollof rice. Fam, I don’t even want meat.
Lol ok on a serious note, this is a post about my writing process and strategy and all that.
‘What writing process? You haven’t written a story in ages!’ You say.
Well, sharrap.
I have been and am writing. Just not blog stuff.
Let’s head to the FAQs:

1. What am I working on?

Personally, (and when I say personally I mean for myself), I’ve got two projects lined up. One is a collection of short horror stories I’ve written. They’ve been put up on this blog at one point or another in the span of about two years. What I’ve done though, (just in case you’re wondering why I’d make a collection of familiar stories) is I’ve re-written them; given them more length, depth and alternative endings in most I think. I’ve also added stories I haven’t put up here so there are new things to read eh?
The second thing I’m working on is a novella and no, not horror. My main focus while I’m writing this is creating something that can be used as a literature text in Nigerian schools at all levels.
I’ve been drawing strong inspiration from The classic African literature masters; Achebe, Chukwuemeka Ike, Okri, Ekwensi et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
I’ve kinda stalled on both projects admittedly but I do plan on kickstarting again this summer so pray for me sumimasen!

2. How does my work differ from others in its genre?

I tend to tell myself I write in two genres: one, horror, and the second, the rest all jumbled up.
I’ll just answer this generally.
Sometimes, I don’t know how my work differs from your average horror or thriller because I read a lot of them and I know a lot of what I read leech into my writing. I cannot stop that. However, for how it differs, I’d say it’s in dialogue.
If you’ve read a lot of my stories you’d notice they do contain a lot of dialogue not just a straight run through. In these dialogues, I try to show the state of mind of the character speaking and it works somehow.
Also, I tend to not write happy stories, even when it’s supposed to be a lighthearted story. There is an underlying sadness in a lot of what I pen down (even my romance stories are sad, X for Ada eg) I don’t know why. I’ve just accepted that’s just me.
I’m not one for flowery languages or big words. So I write so that a layman would understand the gist of my tale without Google.
Now for my horror, I’m very keen on madness and the mind. A lot of my horror stories reflect this. I’m also big on creating powerful, psychotic female characters. This is not a feminist bid on my part, it’s just the way my thought process works. I genuinely believe women are scarier than men and so I allow my belief take preeminence in my stories.

3. Why do I write what I do?

I don’t know if I have a clear reason why I write a lot of disturbing things. Lol.
First is probably I’m influenced by what I read, naturally. Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Graham Masterton, Adam Neville etc. I also enjoy African literature even though I think I don’t read enough of them. Now, I’ve always wanted to merge these two ‘styles’. Horror in an African setting. The only book I’ve read that gave me a vague sense of this merger was The Bottled Leopard by Chukwuemeka Ike which still remains a personal fave of mine. Because I’m Igbo, it’s always easiest for me to make my characters Igbo so i can fully capture ethnicity in terms of culture and language.
When I was growing up, my sisters told me a lot of stories, scary stories. Igbo stories. Some passed down, some invented in their demented minds. Horror is an African genre. It’s in our folk tales. It’s in our art, Which is why the British museum have hidden our art in the basement! :’)
What I’m saying is that, this isn’t something new. It is just suppressed because religion and Da Blood! I cast and bind! Blah blah…
It’s just a story. They’re just stories. Or are they… Hehehe
I want to read more African inspired chillers and so I write them for my reading pleasure and for those who have the same appetite as I do.
My non horror stories, I write because sometimes I feel like proving I can be versatile. I don’t want to be stuck in a box. Or have my writing labelled under one concrete genre. I want to be like an amorphous substance; flowing, one molecule into the other.
I also extend my versatility to poetry, plays. Just because I can. I’m not the best at what I do but I don’t care because I enjoy it too much to make it about just being ‘best’.

4. How does my writing process work?

With a dialogue.
Seriously.
I do this thing where I run commentaries in my head. And hold conversations with different types of personalities in my head. And I stumble on that one dialogue that serves as a base to build up an enormous tale. Sometimes, the base isn’t solid and story ends up in my draft. other times, it makes the cut and ends up being told.
I tend to write as my Spirit directs, especially with short stories. I just write as I go, no plans. I find that having a plan restricts my imagination. I write and write till I get to an ‘end’. Then, i begin to edit and end up deleting half of what I got anyway! The editing phase is when I do my serious thinking, trying to make a story as plausible as I can. I mean I know it’s fiction but the beauty of the kind of stuff i write is making it so plausible, you believe it can happen (which most times, it can, but that’s a tale for another day)
When I have bigger projects, like my novella or working on a script for film, I do have an outline of what happens at every turn. I then fill up the outline with a corresponding story to match.
Then the additions and subtractions.
I type mostly but when I stumble on a good story in my head mentally and I’m maybe at work or in school, I go long hand.
Oh! I just remembered another novella in the making I’m writing by hand about cats. I wonder where I kept it…

Anyway guys, that is all from me!
To pass this baton given to me, I’d introduce the next person writing about his own Writing Journey!
You all know him well, he’s no stranger to Phantom Pages.
Edgothboy! One of my favourite writers.
Eddie is an alumnus of the 2011 Farafina Trust Writing Workshop. He has called himself an amateur writer (Smh), cheerleader of the greats and a Melissa Bank groupie.
He blogs at PTS

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That’s all folks!
I’ll try write more, no promises.
If you want to ask any more questions, please feel free!

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Hello!!!
So glad to be saying that today would be the last day of the 31 day challenge!! Yaaay! ^_^
And of course, the last day of the year 2012. Yay. -_-

Today, I have a lovely piece custom-made requested from @VokePella and provided by Monsieur @Griffinstreaks!
Totally enjoyed reading it, and hope you do!

TARTARUS

Darkness.
It is all that can be said of this gloomy place, in sight and in mind. It is all you will know dwelling here yet, our punishment has not been served; we simply wait for the appointed time. To imagine our Creator and Father prepared a place much worse than Tartarus is the only frightening pronouncement that shakes any of us, all 200 of us.

Our sin? One of the most abominable of them all; we lay with women, born of man and they bore us children.

The Nephilims, a creation most forbidden; Father sent 40 days of rain down upon all the Earth to wipe them off the land. It succeeded in cornering a few, in drowning a few but some still survived, some still exist. In that we all take pride, that our new lineage (for our former brothers have disowned and disavowed us) will continue till the end of the age of man.

My anger is eternal, to my Father, to my distanced brothers and most especially, to Man, for his favours are many, obtaining preference over my kind. In subtle and quiet ways we have funnelled messages and plans to our children on earth, shown them and coached them in the best ways to conceal themselves, to mislead man, to assure his destruction will coincide with ours. We are well aware of our fate, that forgiveness cannot be sought at the foot of My Father; my kind is not permitted that, but man is.

Uriel, my former commander never shows himself. The last I saw of him was 70 centuries ago- if my counting is precise- in his splendour He had come to inspect our prisons and chains. We all saw what we once were in the appearance of his radiance- resplendent and divinely blinding in all the glory Father had bestowed upon him- compared to what we are now; blackened skin, featherless wings and a gust of hate, anger and destruction swirling around us. Our voices are coarse with bitterness and the vilest of words; voices which once were instruments of sweet praise and adoration to Father.

The Tartaruchi, the worst of Uriel’s kind, the keepers of this dark prison remind us of our impending doom; they look forward to our imminent end, rebuking us for falling so easily for the lust of the flesh but they will never understand how these beauties our Father created can barely be resisted; woman.
Daughters of Eve; so sensual and giving, dotting and devoted. I once tried explaining to their leader Temeluchus, a most feared creature, even viler than I ever was during the time of the wars. His features momentarily softened as I told him of the joys and pleasures promised in the bosom of a woman; it did not last long; he scorned me and rebuked me openly, flaying my side with his great sword.

There are periods when I sense the hate amongst my kind, my own brothers, creatures I once led into both battle and damnation. One dared look me in the eye long enough for me to perceive his thoughts. I tore him to shreds before his brothers, wing from bone flesh from skull, as a lesson to those who easily forget that like me, they chose this fate, not ignorant of the consequences.

Till the Day of Judgement, my children work tirelessly to ensure damnation is not solely apportioned upon me and my brothers alone. Man shall join us in the Rivers of Fire and Torture or whatever Father sees fit to condemn us to. For every one of us Watchers, hundreds of millions shall be made to taste the bitterness of a dark eternity. This much of my word I have given to my brothers and it will never be empty, even within these confines of darkness and ashes.

As I sit here looking into the dark, perceiving and sensing my brothers as they continually grow restless, I sense a coming finality. It has never been so strong before. The time is surely near, the Tartaruchi have doubled their postings around Tartarus and they are now adorned with ceremonial armour.

“Brothers, the promise I made to you on our last day of glory is upon us, our Day of Judgment draws near, imminently closer, and so does that of Man…”

I say these words like never before, filled with hate and anger so great, I leap to the highest point of our prison and raise a familiar battle cry. My brothers shout with me “..did I not promise you all this small consolation?! Have I not given it?!”

Even in defeat, I can sense the satisfaction in their spirits, our wounds shall never be healed until that most insignificant creature dwells in the same place my Father sends us to.
It shall be so, I swear it.
I am pulled from my thoughts as I hear a mighty trumpet, then another and another, by the time the seventh one goes off, my brothers above it all chant my name.
The feeling of pride and glory return, for it has been ages since my name was called; Samyaza! Samyaza! Samyaza!

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Am I the only one that had little shivers of pleasure at the end? Yes? ( ._.)
A big thank you to Griffinstreaks for this!
I’d drop a book recommendation, if you love tales of the Nephilims and Watches. Well, three books.
The Grigori Trilogy by Storm Constantine. (Stalking Tender Prey, Stealing Sacred Fire and Scenting Hallowed Blood)
You would love it! Promise!

The perfect way to end a perfect run!!
Thank you to all the contributors: Dionysus, Taryhel, Coolprinceee, The Anonymous guys, Aina (iamosegun), Samson, (Nosmass_Efx) and Griffin sama!!
A special shout-out to Ms Mae Gregory for following every post and her Time Capsule post that gave me the idea for Sakura Blooms.
Another special shout-out to Voke Pella for hooking me up with this swanky post to end the year!

And the most special of shout-outs, to everyone who read our chatterin and nattering, sensible or not!

2013 would be a good year for us all and we’d all live to grumle about me doing a 31day challenge come Decemer, 2013
😀

Oh and this is a big, big hug to everyone who made my 2012 special.

And an even more special Phantom Page shout-out to my Edwin!!!
Thank you for organising the blog and taking over from me when I ran away!
God bless you! I’ve always got your back!

SENSELESS

Everyone went to Monday like Shiva was elected the Goddess of Damascus.

Memorable it was, how the ocean washed away the roaches; the eagle left clutching at the sands of time.

My eyes opened to a beautiful nightmare as I imagined a big ball of light taking me away from the grips of Scylla.
Faced with life, I exhale oxygen and breathe fire into Charybdis, Hephaestus is pleased.
The phone rang as the bemuda triangle showed us the circle of life, alas, unfettered by the restraints of freedom.Call upon me he said, the lizard nodded its head as it laid eggs into the deep dark void.
Temptation sedates my curiosity; I solve it one at a time, twice amidst the erupting volcano.
As the drums whisper to me, it seems I am chasing the dragon; heavy clouds pour out their venom and stain the sky.
What sort of theft is this?
Stealing a young man’s sorrow is like throwing the wind to a pitcher.
Head spins and the chimpanzee cannot understand why Prometheus destroyed the clay.If only he could make love to me, she said, I’m running at a blank as to why I cannot remember the last time that I forgot.
The sage said to embrace the embryo, forever eliminate the competition for the possibility of emancipation is the destruction of the biosphere.
As the fish tried to breathe on dry land, the water made fun of it while it choked.Bathe me it said, Bathe me but what is a fisherman to do when he cannot sit on the sun and catch fish from the cloud when it rains?
200 miles per hour, it’s how fast I go in this traffic.
A paladin is not after me but I dived out of the plane only to land in a pool of breast milk.
First and foremost, the last thing she ever wanted to do was visit the moon with me.
The tears freeze my eyeballs and as I fall to the floor, they shatter.

Television was watching me and my channels started to change.
I was showing them how Abel killed Cain with cocaine.

So you tell me that you are unsure of not knowing but how can you feel what the feline says when it meows?

Is it not certain that the strength to pull Excalibur out compares not to the waterfall gushing out from a pleasured woman?

The toad hops in this strange miasma and the sun causes the stars to melt in broad daylight.

It’s like the pain is too pleasurable, tell me how I can unbear the pleasure.

If the cornflakes makes the chin chin jealous, how can it ever live to know the difference between sameness?

I know that you think that you do not know what I am not telling you but how can you be so certain?

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If you read this from the beginning to the end and you’re like WTF did I just

read??? My Job is done!

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LMAO!! Dionysus is a problem i swear! Why would chinchin be jealousing Cornflakes? LMAO!

What are we? Who are we?
Who are we to judge like they do?
Who gave us that authority?
We were told to show compassion
Love
Peace
Kindness
Empathy

But We act like them.
We wear white thinking that makes Us pure.
Makes us better.
We think We are special.
We judge as they do.
We judge by sight.
He taught us better.

Who were We before We knew Him?
Do We even know Him?
We claim We do but I don’t see Him in Us.
We judge.
We stand on a high place.
We believe We are better.
But Our pride is a blindfold.
It puts on a veil of “purity”
But beyond that veil is filth.
Decadent minds
Pride filled hearts which rot away
The filthy stench of brimstone
The foolishness of a proud people
And that foolishness…
It will be Our undoing

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We are almost at the end of the month!
Today, a first-timer on Phantom Pages would be taking the onerous task of entertaining us today.
@iamosegun, over to you!

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SORROW

Sorrow makes us wear

Hope is what brought us here

Fear keeps us here

Reason shows us where

Faith takes us near

Belief brings us there

God is everywhere

REFLECTIONS

I have sold my rights

I sold them a penny apiece

I have lost the light

I lost it while looking for peace

This is where I am

The place I never longed to be

My tears have broken the Dam

This is not what I was meant to see

I guess I always had it coming

After all the things I have done

The bridges of my past are still burning

Doused with pride, set ablaze in Rage and a temper that’s worn.

No time to regret the past

That time will never come

I pray it’ll all be forgotten fast,

O dear bright future, here I come.

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Amen to forgotten pasts and bright futures!
Thanks, @iamosegun for these pieces. I purposely put Sorrow first because it seemed like a beginning and Reflection seemed a good end. Do keep on havin flashes of inspiration and you’re always welcome here!
Enough famzing for today,

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I hope everyone had a good day yesterday- eating,drinking et alia. I am jealous. No. Really. I am hungry. ( ,_,)

As today is Boxing day, this is officially the day you get to open all the presents you receive yesterday. Or a day to get over your hangover if you’re Black. Negroes don’t do gifts. -_-.

Let us all take today to remember the little gifts we have in our lives; the ones we often take for granted.

The gift of Life: You’re alive today. Someone didn’t live to see today. Someone almost didn’t live to see today. Take a little time out to thank God/Science/Voodoo/Whatever you believe in for the fact that you breathe.

The gift of Love: Not particularly Eros. Love for family. Love for friends. Love for the lovers. Love for spouses. Let us appreciate our ability to feel something. Being dead inside isn’t fun.

The gift of Internet: Lol. YES! Thank heavens for my internet provider without whom I’d have failed a lot of school work. 😀

The gift of sustenance: There is hunger and there is starvation. You are not starving (I hope). Be grateful for that.

The gift of Good friends: Good friends are good. Never neglect those people that are always ready to help when you’re in trouble. They might never talk to you often (like me) and they might even forget your birthday (like me) but you know if you call for help, they’ve got your back. Bless God for them.

The gift of a smile: Can’t explain this. Linked tohappiness.

There are so many gifts we can appreciate. Sight, Sound, Colour, Books! LORD BOOKS! THANK YOU!
We might not have gotten the latest iPhone or the latest fashion accessories but hey, material things don’t matter much when you think about the fact that some people have these things but are not alive to use them.

Anyway, I am done!
I will see you when I see you.
Leave your curtain open; Love watching you sleep. -.-

Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!
What will you like Santa to add to your wishlist?
I come bearing gifts for both the young and the old.
All I ask in return is your pound of flesh by the mould.

Santa Claws, sharper than Krueger Freddy,
I take what I want whenever I’m ready.
Kids scream in pure ecstacy,
As my fingers pierce through their soft belly.

Ladies shed tears of joy as my claws massage their fanny.
Blood dripping, I seem to be making them horny.
I want a car for christmas, he stood there wishing.
My claws were the key and his flesh was the ignition.

Ho Ho Ho!, I am Santa Claws!
I live and abide by only one law.
If you have a wish, Santa Claws would deliver.
But just remember to drop your liver,
Kidneys, toes, eyes will do.
Heart, intestines, kneecaps too

What you ask, you shall receive,
Along with your inevitable bereave.
Ho Ho Ho, I am Santa Claws!
I ride no elves, but you see me crusing a Porsche.
My stomach is bloated from drinking too much liquor.
I dyed my beard white cause young girls like em older.

Underneath my red suit are a pair of guns.
To get a titty flash from one of them uptight nuns.
I am Santa Claws and I aint no folklore.
‘Ho Ho Ho’ and my big belly are what I use to lure.

Girls, boys, men, women are fascinated.
Camouflaged as I rip their flesh and the blood painted.
Walls, floors, tables and ceilings,
I give birth to the new untainted phoenix.
Death gives life and the unborn is born.
I give something new as their flesh is ripped and torn.

I am Santa Claws and December 25th is when I make my Hitlist.
Give me a call and I’d give you a visit
Ho Ho Ho!
Merry Christmas!

Hello! It’s a beautiful Monday morning! Kidding. -_-.
It’s a gloomy Monday and what better to boost moods than a story? Yes, I have a story!
Silly-ish! Enoy!

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THE BOLD CHICKEN

Obinna woke up and for a second he had no idea what day it was.
Then he remembered…and grinned. One looking at him would have described his smile as almost feral, yellow teeth glistening dully between dry, cracked lips.
“Today na today!” he murmured as he got out of bed – an old mattress, soft with age.
He yawned, stretching his arms as far as they could go up his head- which wasn’t far, considering his short stature.
‘Small stout’ his friends would call him in jest.

He walked over to the black polythene bad near his bed and after a search, punctuated by his yawning, brought out a white singlet which he donned quickly and left the room. He walked into a sparsely furnished and dark living room and peered closely at an unremarkable clock on the wall. Muttering and pointing, his face was scrunched up in concentration.
“Aha!” he whispered at last, smiling in satisfaction, as if he had just deciphered a particularly difficult code.
“It is thirty past six” he murmured, thirty pronounced ‘taati’.
With another smile, he left and walked into what seemed to be a kitchen. He scurried around in the darkness and came out triumphant with a knife and a bowl.
“Jezas good morning Sir” he sang softly under his breath as he used a key he must have retrieved from the living room to open the door. He walked back in to drop out and came out a few second later, picked the bowl with the knife and walked outside into the morning.
He took a deep breath and smiled, remembering his village. It almost smelled the same, thanks to the grassy pasture his Master and his wife had grown around the compound.
With a spring in his step, he walked to the back of the house, whistling a Christmas tune under his breath.
He got out a stool from a corner and placed it beside the gutter.
He brought the knife and with flourish, swiped it on the cemented ground.
He grinned, part excited about the crisp sound the metal made as it came in contact with the ground.
“Anyi ga eri sha sha! All correct Sah!” he said excitedly, shaking his shoulders in glee. “We will eat prenty!”
He swiped the knife a few more times, and testing its blade with his fingers, he decided it was sharp enough.
He got off the stool, knife on hand and walked till he got to a metal cage where cluckings were heard.
A hen poked its head out of the bars of its cage and Obinna gestured to it.
“Today na today!” he jumped up and broke into a dance, wriggling his waist as he made stabbing gestures to the floor.
“You willi dah-co-rate our prate today” he chortled.
The hen stared at him calmly, head twitching every few seconds.
“Anyi ga eri gwo gwo! All correct Sah!” he mock saluted at his poultry audience and burst into gales of laughter.
“When I serve Oga and Madam food today, I will sarut like dis and say All correct Sah!” he told the hen.
He cradled the knife under his armpit and opened the cage.
As he reached inside to grab the hen, it flew into his face, causing him to shriek in surprise, dropping back and allowing the hen escape.
“Chimo!” he shouted, and gave pursuit, knife in hand, swearing oaths on how he was going to kill it mercilessly.
The hen eluded him, managing to slip from his fingers every time he tried to grab a hold of its feathers.
“I che n’inwa anya! You think you’re bold ookwa ya!” he muttered furiously, trying to herd the taciturn hen to the back of the house.
It made for the front gate and his eyes widened in realisation and horror.
There was a gape just at the base of the gate where the hen could slip through. He had been told to fix it since by his Master but had postponed it due to laziness.
True to word, the hen shimmied through the opening, and Obinna caught it- ALMOST!
The hen disappeared and he heard its triumphant clucking as it ran its merry way off.
Tears came unbidden to his eyes add he imagined the reaction of his Master when he’d wake up later to find out that the Christmas chicken he had bought -quite expensively, as he boasted to his wife- had just run away.
Even more sorrowful, the fact that for the first time in many years, he won’t be eating chicken on Christmas day.

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Eshinshin carry pomo!
Lol dunno why I felt the need to type that!
How is everyone enjoying their holiday? Good?
Well I’ve got no holiday. Got work today. Yes, My boss is a Grinch but hey! Free lunch!
\(^.^)/
You have a lovely day and be safe!!!